ode to insomnia.
i can’t sleep.
no seriously that’s it, that’s all, i can’t sleep.
fuuuuuuuuuuuuck Methylprednisoloooooooooooooooone.
i just wanna sleep.
:(
there is no giraffe.
Things Cassidy saved from her apartment: one tank top, one pair of jeans, one red sneaker—all of those only because that’s what she was wearing. No socks. No coat. No cat. Standing a few feet away down the sidewalk, the family from across the hall is speaking in low voices, something about a party and cake and candles. It’s their fault, probably. Their kid is crying.
They should feel lucky to be alive. Cassidy doesn’t, but then again, luck had nothing to do with it.
She rubs her bare left foot on the concrete and absently wipes both her hands on her shirt; the soot comes off in handprints across her breasts. Cassidy’s a mess. These were the clothes she was sleeping in, and they were dirty before they were almost set on fire. Her hair hangs around her face like a tangled, smoky curtain. She only has one shoe, she can hardly believe how ridiculous that is.
She rolls her eyes and sighs. Out of habit, without her own permission, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of Camels—she doesn’t realize what she’s got, at first, then she holds it up in front of her face. Then she grins. “Anyone got a light?” she asks, loudly.
The family from across the hall glares in her direction.
this show is so fucking amazing.
yeah, about summer.
So I was determined to make sure today wasn’t a waste of a day, and I’m not entirely sure that I’ve succeeded. I managed to find out what I’m getting for my birthday next month and watch fifteen minutes of a documentary on a failed attempt to steal Abraham Lincoln’s body and hold it for ransom, and … I think that’s everything I did today.
Rejected Cartoons by Don Hertzfeldt
